


Hating the Player

by lucasdias960



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:33:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23411713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucasdias960/pseuds/lucasdias960
Relationships: Robert Chase/Greg House
Kudos: 13





	Hating the Player

“She may even outlive you,” proclaimed Wilson. He turned to the door as if he was going to leave and waited.  
“Oh, how dramatic,” said House.  
Wilson smiled to himself, the man couldn’t resist.  
House continued his sarcastic diatribe. “Perfect ending to one of those cancer movies on women’s TV channels. Stoic cancer kid teaches rotten doctor how to live life to the fullest, embrace each moment as it comes, and take candy from strangers.” He tossed back another Vicodin and swallowed with a smirk.  
Wilson turned around and sighed, “You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch.”  
House shook his head. “Nah. I suffer from a bum leg, not sudden cardio expansion.”  
“And this little girl has got you beat in every aspect of life.”  
“Nuh uh” said House, indignantly. “My Mario Brother’s score is untouchable by man or clichéd cancer patient!”  
Wilson had to smile at that. “That may be the case, but you have to admit she got more play than you this week.”  
House looked up. “Did you just use the word ‘play’?” he asked, raising an incredulous eyebrow.  
“I believe I did. You haven’t cornered the market on inappropriate word choice, you know.” And inappropriate action, Wilson thought.  
“Are you trying to wow the nurses with a tough, street-smart vocabulary?” House queried.  
“Stop that, we’re not talking about me.” Wilson knew all of House’s tricks and he would be damned if he outwitted by a man high on Vicodin. It was time to bring out the big guns. “We were talking about how a little girl’s cajones are three times the size of yours.”  
House considered this for a minute. “That is impressive for a nine year old girl.”  
“My point exactly.”  
“Except,” mused House, “all she did was prey on the emotions of a pretty, defenseless Australian.” He sniffed disdainfully, “That doesn’t take cajones.”  
“Well, I’ve never seen you do anything like it! You’ll mock people to tears, but you’d never try something that could actually mean anything to you.” He folded his arms over his chest as if it proved something.  
House looked up at him quizzically. “Are you saying that I don’t have the balls to make Chase kiss me?”

“Here’s the order you placed a cou-“  
Chase was all the way across the room before he realized that something was terribly, horribly wring.  
House was crying.  
Not weeping, but his face was pensive and his cheeks glistened as he turned to Chase’s voice.  
Chase’s brain shut down all functions except the one blaring ‘Escape! Escape!” He tried to open his mouth and extricate himself from the extremely awkward and potentially life-threatening situation, but all that would come out of his mouth was “Uhhhh-“  
“Give that to me,” growled House and grabbed the file out of Chase’s trembling fingers.  
Stubbornly ignoring the wet spots on his cheeks, House paged violently through the file, glowering at every test and chart.  
Chase was thunderstruck. He stood stock still next to House’s desk, like a condemned man waiting in front of a firing squad.  
Eventually, House looked up, “I’m not going to kill you. Sit down”  
Chase was planning on running, but his traitor knees bent and then his arse was in a chair “So that’s what it takes,” said his traitor mouth.  
“What?” exclaimed House.  
Chase looked House straight in the eye.  
“Oh, that,” muttered House and he quickly dragged his sleeve across his face. “ A kid dying from cancer is all it takes to reduce me to tears? I wouldn’t be a good doctor if it did.”  
Part of Chase still wanted to run, but a greater part was intrigued. “So why this?” he asked. “Why now?”  
House looked up, and in the afternoon light Chase could see every droop in House’s face, every wrinkle and grey hair. When he spoke, even his voice sounded old, “I’m tired. I’m bitter. And today a person who hasn't even gone through puberty proved that she knows more about life than I do.”  
“What?” asked Chase. House was making no sense, which was comforting on some level, but didn’t stop him from being confused.  
House continued with a sad smile. “She made everyone here like her. She made an informed decision about her life and her death.” He let out a short, caustic laugh, “For the love of -, she made you kiss her.”  
Chase tried to offer some comfort, “You make me scared.”  
House put down the file. “I’m a cripple who uses sarcasm in place of human emotion. I’m also your boss. Of course I make you scared.”  
Chase heard the old punch coming back into House’s voice and decided to feel relieved. “You have a really big stick. That has to count for something.”  
House snorted and returned to the file.  
And then Chase dared to ask, ”What do you want?”  
“What do I want?” asked House fixing Chase with his gaze.  
Chase bit his lip, “If you don’t mind telling me.”  
And the sadness returned to House’s face. Penetrating eyes still on the younger man, House said “I want what she has. I want to be able to face the day without bitterness. I want to be liked for who I am, and not my medical history. I want-  
And House’s breath hitched. He was staring at his lips, Chase realized.  
House wants me to kiss him.  
Underneath the table, Houses leg brushed the inside of Chase’s calf.  
“I, I thought you didn’t like me,” Chase stammered.  
House kept his eyes level with Chase’s, “I’m not very good at . . . liking. Even before the leg, I wasn’t. But now . . .”  
“But now you find that you can’t trust anybody.” Chase understood.  
For a moment, House looked at him with unguarded blue eyes and Chase saw everything. He saw the hurt, and the pain, and the sheer want. So he leaned in and pressed his mouth to House’s.  
It was awkward, Chase realized, kissing the man who held his job in his hands.  
It was even more awkward when, after about five seconds, House leaned back in his chair and smiled. Evilly.

“I hate you,” muttered Chase. And then he downed the last of his piss-ass American beer.  
“I’m sorry,” mocked House. “I can’t hear you over the sound of my cajones growing.” And then he went back to counting his newly-owned tens and twenties and singing along with the juke-box, loudly. “Take me down to the Paradise City, where the grass is green and the girls are pretty!”  
Chase groaned. “I hate you,” he said louder, trying to make the men he was drinking with understand just how evil they were. “Both of you!”  
Wilson turned to him and asked, “Why do you hate me? I’m the one who bet on you. I’m the one who’s out 100 bucks.” He took a long pull on his beer for emphasis.  
“Then why are you smiling?” Chased slurred.  
“What are you talking about?” Wilson asked innocently, ordering Chase another beer.  
Chase took the offered beer, but he pursued the issue. “You have that smile,” he said, pointing at Wilson’s face. “That sneaky little smile and big, innocent puppy eyes. You’re a bad man, bad doctor. I need to ask myself who made House do this?’  
Wilson shook his head“I think that the question you need to ask yourself is ‘Why are you so easy?’”  
Chase narrowed his eyes at the comment and the laughter that followed it. He hated everyone. He hated Dr. Wilson. He hated Dr. House. He hated the makers of Visine. He even hated that stupid nine-year old cancer-ridden slut in training. “I hate everybody!” he proclaimed, even though he was sure no one was listening.  
Chase almost yelped when he felt a strong hand grab his upper thigh. It was House, not even close to drunk but still reveling. “Dr. Chase,” he admonished, with a leer. “Don’t hate the player, hate the game.”


End file.
